


Tis my faith, every flower

by LiveOakWithMoss



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: And Beor is impatient, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Finrod is a hippie and a nerd, Finrod is my Silm bicycle and this is his only happy ride, Innuendo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 05:42:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2801672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finrod engages with flora and fauna; Bëor would prefer if he engaged with <i>him</i> instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tis my faith, every flower

“What are you doing now, Elf?” 

Bëor stood over Finrod, hands on his hips, lips pursed. Finrod was crouched down in the grass, eyes fixed on something Bëor couldn’t see. 

“Shh,” Finrod murmured. He stretched out a long finger and poked at something hidden beneath a mushroom. 

“You are fulfilling all the stereotypes of your kind,” said Bëor, reproachfully. “Whispering to toadstools, by the gods. Do you know how often I have defended you against my men? Nay, he is not an airy, pillow-headed fey, say I. Nay, he does not embrace trees or talk to caterpillars, he is a warrior, and a great lord. Nay, hush your mouth, he is of strong mind and stout heart, and not the soft princess you think him.”

“Nothing soft about princesses,” said Finrod absently, still absorbed in the mushroom. “My little sister was one, and she broke all the bones in my left hand, once.” 

“Why would she do a thing like that?” 

“We were sparring, and I teased her about the boy she liked. Said he wore silly clothes.” 

“That is rich, coming from you.” 

“I told you, it wasn’t a dress.”

“Looked like a dress.” 

“I would be honored to wear such a dress, but it  _wasn’t_  a dress. It was a robe.” 

Bëor sighed deeply. “Elves.” 

“Men.” 

“Will you stop poking that fungus?”

“I am just saying hello.” 

“It has no ears. Nor mouth. You daft creature.” 

“Not the mushroom, you great hairy beast. Look.” Finrod withdrew his finger carefully and held it up. On it perched a spotted salamander, tail curled lightly around Finrod’s rings. 

Bëor looked unimpressed. “ ‘Tis a lizard. Aye. Most exciting.” 

“An amphibian, actually.”

“Elf.” 

“What?” 

Bëor tapped the toe of his heavy boot impatiently. “…Did you not hear me say that we had but an hour before my men return from the hunt?” 

“I heard you. And I wondered why you did not go with them. You so enjoy the hunt, and I so enjoy when you return reeking of blood and hot with glory…” 

“You also enjoy when I take you on the furs of my tent and you can cry out as loud as you like because there are none around to hear you.” 

Finrod looked thoughtful, still examining the salamander. “…True.” 

“Well, then?” 

Finrod blinked, pensive. “I had planned to go down by the creek. There was an unusual mass of elodea I thought I might sketch, to compare with samples I took from further north. Is it possible that such a strain of waterweed might be so climatically adaptable? I wondered – ” 

With an oath, Bëor reached down. Carefully flicking the salamander from Finrod’s finger, he wrapped a brawny arm around the Elf’s waist and hauled him to his feet. 

Finrod straightened up, looking vexed. He stared down at the man, on whom he had several inches. “I  _beg_  your pardon.” 

“Pardon granted, m’lord,” said Bëor, and without further ado he grabbed Finrod and slung his long body over one shoulder. “Say goodbye to your little friends,” he called over his shoulder, as Finrod gasped, half laughing, half breathless  from the air driven from his lungs, “Tell them you have another ‘specimen’ to study.” 

“That’s a terrible innuendo,” Finrod protested, but let himself be carried. He propped his elbows on Bëor’s shoulder and shook his head resignedly. “Men.” 

“Elves,” repeated Bëor, ducking through the entrance to his tent and tossing Finrod down on his bedroll. “Now take your clothes off, you mad thing, and let me show you ‘hot with glory’…”  

**Author's Note:**

> 0\. [The art that inspired it.](http://silmarillle.tumblr.com/post/105573860054/if-anyone-was-wondering-about-that-beor-finrod-fic)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Your First Legendary Elvenking](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3470273) by [amyfortuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna)




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